


A Song of Darkness and Light

by inthegrayworld



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fucking, Inspired by Game of Thrones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 09:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17118905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthegrayworld/pseuds/inthegrayworld
Summary: The events of the Last Jedi, except in a Game of Thrones world. So, more fucking.This is a gift for invisibleworld, who asked for a fantasy AU. Enjoy!





	A Song of Darkness and Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [invisibleworld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibleworld/gifts).



The battlefield was still fresh. Ravens crowded the sky, every now and then one of them alighting on a fallen knight, pecking at an eyeball through a crumpled helm. 

Not for the first time, Rey considered the wisdom of her actions. The fighting had moved east, the white-clad Storm Troopers of the Order of the First continuing their assault on Lady Organa’s Resistance. Many had advised Leia of the futility of her actions, but she was the last daughter of House Organa, and although the Alderaanian Keep had been destroyed back in the Civil War, she clung to her fallen house’s words - ‘We Have Everything We Need’. More pressingly, her personal words were ‘Fuck These Half-Witted Scruffy-Looking Pig Herders’. 

Somewhere, Rey thought, the firebird banner of the Resistance still flew. Perhaps it was Ser Poe who led the charge, no man rode faster on a destrier. Or maybe it was Finn, given that name when he had betrayed the Order after refusing to take part in the sack of a peasant village. 

“It will be fine,” Rey said, more to herself than to her companion. “They’ll all be fine.”

Beside her, Chewie made another deep, throaty noise, the cacophony most did not believe could be a language. He was easily the tallest, hairiest man Rey had ever seen. But Ser Han had assured her that this was the norm in Chewie’s home, wherever that was, in some vast forest in Esos. 

Ser Han…

His face came to mind, his smirk, and his rickety old ship, the Falcon, a remnant, so the story went, of his days as a pirate. Grimly, Rey remembered her own mission, and the danger surrounding it.

Chewie made another noise.

“I’ll be fine too,” Rey said, forcing a smile. “He won’t kill me. And if he tries, he’ll find it a difficult thing to manage.”

She patted the sword that hung on her belt, A Valyrian saber of some arcane properties, that shone blue when in the presence of a foe. 

Chewie lifted the lid up off the wooden coffin so Rey could climb inside. Her heart pounded in her ribs, but whatever she had lived without - Name, House, a family - she had her will. That would have to be enough when she faced him.

Well, her will and the sword.

*

Ser Kylo waited at the gate of the Black Keep, in the heart of Emperor’s Landing. There was a time when the vast castle complex had been adorned with the banners of the illustrious Houses that had fought in the Civil War to defend the Empire - the deep greens of House Tarkin (‘Fire When Ready’), the rich blues of House Amedda (‘We Shall Have Order’), and the deep black and red of the personal standard of Lord Vader, (‘Know the Power of the Dark Side’). Now, there was nothing but the dark starburst of the Order of the First, at every door, on every wall.

Kylo found himself observing the symbol on the flags erected above the gates. He had made a decision to serve beneath that sigil, but there were fissures in the bedrock. There were days when he could ignore them, when he could be Kylo of the Knights of Ren, in his jet black armor, and silver-lined mask, the red gleam of his Valyrian saber stark in any field of battle. But not on a day like this. 

‘I am coming,’ she had said. She hadn’t said it by messenger, or Raven. The words had appeared in his mind, and he had known the truth of them. And so he waited.

“My Lord?” It was Ser Phasma’s voice ringing hollow through her mirror-plated helmet. Although none had ever seen her face, she had been dubbed ‘The Beauty’. 

“We’ve succeeded in cutting off the supply lines to the Resistance army. They’ll be running on nigh but air soon enough.”

Kylo remembered how Lord Hux had described it - the Resistance were rats at the end of a string. So they were.

“Await my order,” Kylo said. For now, he had a much more pressing matter to attend to. Phasma did not question him, merely inclined her helmed head and stalked away, the tap of her spear following her footsteps out the gates. From where she left entered a group of Silent Sisters, septas who attended to the dead, no matter which side of the war they fell.

They brought with them a line of coffins on wheeled platforms, laden with the Order’s dead. But Kylo’s pulse quickened as the last coffin was brought in. 

‘I am coming.’ Her words echoed in his mind as though she had whispered it in his ear. 

*

Like him, she was Force-Touched. That was why she had sought out Luke Sky-Walker, legendary knight of the Civil War, whose powers in the Force were sung of by minstrels all across the Seven Kingdoms. She had made her way on the Falcon, to his hermitage in an island on the Narrow Sea. But while she had beseeched him to train her, with both Chewie and Maester Artoo echoing her plea, he had yet to agree.

She had taken to sleeping in one of the stone huts the island’s strange natives had built there - they were an odd, short folk, who dressed and acted like septas, living in harmony with the fat round-eyed birds that crowded the island. They hadn’t liked her though.

Rey had awoken to a strange buzz, something as subtle as a heat haze over the Emperor’s Road, but undeniable as a lightning strike. She had looked up to see Ser Kylo sitting before her bed, the scar she had given him still fresh on his face.

She had not even thought, only attacked, leaving deep gashes not on him, but in the stone wall. He had continued to stand - there, but not there at all - increasingly perplexed.

“Why is the Force connecting us?” he had asked, and she could not answer. It would not be the last time it happened.

*

There was a knock and a creak as the lid of the last coffin slid aside. The Sisters near leapt back in shock, but Kylo did not bat an eyelash. 

“Rey,” he said softly.

Her hand was on the hilt of Sky-Walker’s saber, but her eyes had widened at the sight of him, with a look that was neither anger nor disgust. Indeed, it almost seemed like she had looked forward to this. 

As she got up, a feeling passed between them both, something that was both heat haze and lightning strike. To him, it felt as though the room had shrunk down to them both, and to her it seemed that all other sound had ceased, except the throbbing of his heart behind the plate of black armor. 

*

The second time their presences had met across the Force, she had been tending to the sails of the Falcon. She had heard the low buzz, felt it tickle her spine in a way that the call of the porgs and the whistle of the wind did not, and knew he was behind her.

“I really don’t want to do this right now,” she had said.

“Indeed. Neither do I.”

But a sense of vitriol had welled up within her and she had spun around.

“Why did you hate your father—“

The sight of him had stilled her. Somewhere, miles away, he had just shed his black armor. He stood, stripped to the waist, the light of the candles in his chamber soft across his shoulders, and down his chest. 

Rey had turned away, her face burning.

“Do you have a cowl or something you can put on?”

He had not moved, but her reaction seemed to amuse him. A flutter had made its way down her belly, landing squarely between her legs, but she had refused to pay it any mind, at least at the time.

*

The image returned to her now, as he stood before her. But her face fell at the sight of the Storm Troopers behind him, chains in hand.

It wasn’t to a dungeon she was led to, but a room in a tower, filled with an assortment of crates and furniture. It may once have served as an officer’s room, but it had been given over to storage over time.

This was the room Kylo had retreated to after he was berated by Snoke. There was the wall he had smashed his masked helm against, before bursting out yelling for his destrier to be readied, ready to unleash his fury on his enemies.

One of the Troopers saw them to the door.

“His Grace will see the prisoner after he’s dealt with some matters,” the white-armored guard told Kylo.

He didn’t respond, merely shut the door in the man’s face, before turning back to Rey.

Even with manacles around her wrists, and her sword in its sheath in Kylo’s grip, he had no doubt she’d be difficult to subdue. If it came to that. 

But she did not have the look of someone on the verge of attack.

“You came,” he said.

“I said I would.”

“Anyone could have intercepted you along the way.”

She grinned. “I was remembering the words of House Solo.”

It was a deliberate provocation, he knew. It made his lips straighten into a line. His father had been a pirate before he was knighted at the end of the Civil War. His words, noble or not, had always been ‘Tell Us Not The Odds.’

“Ben…” Hearing his name should have stung, but not when it came from her lips. He found himself fixated on them as she crossed the space towards him, entirely unafraid.

“It’s not too late,” she had said, in the same whisper that had drifted across miles of sea and mountain. “Come with me.”

He fought to keep any trace of feeling to appear on his face. 

She did no such thing, and the way her brows knitted, eyes gleaming, made him tighten his grip on her sword.

“I saw something,” she said. “When we…”

She paused, the heaviness growing in the silence between them.

 

*

It had just been a touch of the hands.

Rey had returned from her sojourn into the dark caves beneath the island, and seen the truth of her past there, had emerged more strongly aware than ever of the bone-deep loneliness that had lived within her since she was a child in the wastelands of Dorne.

He had been there, at least the ghost of him, sitting across the fire, his face grave as he listened to her story, growing graver still when her voice caught in her throat.

“I’ve never felt more alone.”

“You’re not,” he had said, and the Force had whispered, and she knew the truth of his words. It seemed to her that she could reach across the fire and touch him.

“Neither are you,” she had said, offering her hand.

He slid off his glove, reached out, the tips of his fingers piercing the distance between them, finding hers.

A touch. Her fingers brushed his knuckles, his digits rested on hers. His palm found her forearm, and her fingers curled around his wrist. For a long minute, they both held on.

It was he who pulled her towards him, testing if the bond would break, if the illusion (if that was indeed what this was) would fade. The blanket she had put over her shoulders slid away, and she allowed herself to be drawn forward, recognizing what would happen next.

When he stood, her face came to his shoulder. It was almost as though he were here, she had time to think, because when she reached out, she could feel the fabric of his doublet. But when she made to press her palm on his chest, over his heart, it was skin that she felt. His skin.

She looked up, saw him looking down at her without a hint of surprise. Her own clothing had disappeared, but exposed this way, she was not afraid.

He bent his head down, and she felt the kiss as though he were really there, with her. She felt her skin burn, felt a flush of heat in her loins. That was real too.

His nose pressed against the curve of her jaw, urgently, making the hairs along her arms stand. His mouth past the round of her shoulder, her collar. 

She wasn’t sure at what point she had moved from standing, to laying back. It was like they were moving inside a dream. He was above her now, one hand cupping her breast. His head was still moving down, leaving a trail of kisses down her ribs, the soft press of his lips finding the inside of her thighs.

She grit her teeth, feeling his breath against her cunt, tensed at the the touch of his nose against her clit. The tip of his tongue slid against her lips, and the heat that suffused her felt better than anything she had imagined. She had lifted her chin, looked down across the flame-lit contours of her own body to meet his gaze past the spread of her thighs. His eyes had rolled up, shutting, as he gave himself entirely to lapping the nub of her clit.

Her toes curled, legs tensing, trying not to come too quickly. She had stretched back, feeling every single prod and lick, every exhalation he made against her mound. Just a bit further, she had thought. Just a bit—

She had not realized the door to her hut had opened until she heard Sky-Walker crying out. 

That night, she had left the island, determined to bring Kylo back from the Order. He had to come back. He had to.

*  
Back in the room in the tower, her eyes blazed, as though she had made a decision. And there was nothing in all the Seven Kingdoms that could break Rey’s resolve.

She strode forward, chains clinking down her arms. He tensed, as he did before receiving an attack. But she threw her manacled arms around his neck and pulled him to her, covering his mouth with hers.

A jolt went through him, like flame on a line of oil. Suddenly he was pulling her up off her feet, the need for her taste to fill his mouth was the only matter of import in the world. Her tongue was between his teeth, she was drinking of him like she’d found water in the desert.

It occurred to him, distantly, that he had to settle her down someplace, while she continued to scramble on him, fingers finding purchase on the latches of his armor, even as her wrists remained bound. 

The table would do.

He carried her over to it, his dark chest plate slipping away as he did, landing with a clatter on the stone floor. Air touched the wet lines on his neck, left by the trails of her tongue. The heat that coursed through them both seemed to steam the air around them. The Force rose and ebbed - his want, and hers, in perfect balance.

She was pawing at his belt. He very nearly tore her breeches off, but he remembered that he was meant to present her to his master. After this.

There would be repercussions. This, he thought, as he felt the warmth of her palm closing around his engorged cock, sighing as she did, was not a thing that enemies did. 

She may have been thinking the same thing, because she paused, her cheeks red. 

But she bit her lip, her grip around the shaft tightening. He grunted at the feel of the pads of her thumb against the throb of his cock. She gave him short, sharp tugs, her fist squeezing as he gasped.

“Ben,” she exhaled. “I saw this moment…”

She eased her legs around his hips, and he saw the gleaming wet trail leading down from the brush around her cunt.

“I saw this as well,” he murmured, the tip of his cock kissing the lips of her cunt. He slid into her, the hot, wet well closing tight around him.

Rey buried her face in his neck. They might hear, she thought… Although it was unlikely they’d burst into the room to stop whatever was happening. There would be repercussions for what they did, she knew that. But this was the moment she had journeyed towards, and now that she was here, she welcomed it.

He plunged into her deeply, thick, hard, the walls of her cunt trembling to take more of him in. She released small whimpers into his ear, that made him drive against her again and again.

She sat back. He looked like a man intent on his work, sweat beading at his temples, his eyes fixed on her face, lips agape. He fucked her slowly, so she could feel the length of him teasing the ring of her cunt, letting the sensation build, and ebb, and build again.

The vision they’d shared while she was on the island, and he in this fortress, had been something. But this—

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close, arresting him inside of her. This was what she wanted. What he wanted. 

Nothing they could have seen in the Force could have felt as good as this.

She was close to coming, she could feel it. She didn’t have to tell him. He pressed against her, deep, the wet noises between them loud enough to hear, driving her into heightening twists of pleasure, until the tension broke. She didn’t scream out loud, but her cry echoed in the Force, resounding in him, and his hot seed burst into her.

In the room, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing.

Her fingers hooked round around his pauldrons, still hanging from his shoulders. 

“I saw you,” she whispered, “I saw you turn. You will betray your mad king and join me.”

“I saw you as well,” he said, touching her face, the leather glove light on her cheek. “But it was you who joined me. You will break faith with the Resistance, and stay by my side.”

Rey’s heart pounded in her chest. She still believed that this was where she was meant to be. He seemed to believe it as well. 

No, she wanted to say. 

But at the door came a subtle knock.

“My lord,” came a tiny, sheepish voice. “His Grace will see you now. Um. Both of you.”

A look crossed Kylo’s face, like he’d rather burn the entire castle to the ground than disentangle himself from her, but he breathed deeply and nodded.

He would replace her clothing, carefully, and she would help him back into his armor. Together they would enter the mad king’s chamber. It would be a matter of history that the mad king was found dead, of a sword wound plunged into his back, that Ser Kylo was found by Lord Hux unconscious on the floor, while the girl fled back to the Resistance. But what transpired between them remained a secret for the meantime, a song that echoed in the Force.


End file.
